


Yuletide Part II

by FrangipaniFlower



Series: Time and Tide [5]
Category: Homeland
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, F/M, Falling In Love, Love and Despair, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 21:36:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13326843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrangipaniFlower/pseuds/FrangipaniFlower
Summary: Christmas Day. Presents, turkey, Max, Franny, another fairytale  - and an unexpected visitor from Germany.But still a very happy Christmas for Quinn and Carrie.





	Yuletide Part II

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday to Niovitheviolin. I am so glad you are having such a wonderful day!

Franny is up early, of course she is, and so Quinn can’t sneak out before but wakes up with a jolt when he hears her voice, calling Carrie‘s name as she is coming down the hallway a few minutes past six.

„Relax“, he hears Carrie’s voice from somewhere behind his back, „she knows. It’s fine. She even told me to buy you your own pillow.“

She sits up and smiles down on him, and then the door opens and the little girl with her ginger curls bounces in, smiling at him before she starts begging Carrie to get up and check if Santa was there.

„Quinn. You too. C‘mon.“

 

She’s excited about her new bike and the doll, points out the ornaments she made at school, jumps on the couch when Carrie unwraps the present her sister sent her, and can’t wait for Quinn to unwrap his parcel from Santa.

It’s a small round box and it reminds him of a small explosive device - which he of course does _not_ mention - and he has no idea what it’s meant to be.

But then Franny takes over and switches it on, telling _Alexa_ to switch off the lights. Which _the thing_ then does.

He knows it’s meant to make things easier and yet -

„Quinn, Quinn, Max prepared all lamps, and window shutters and you can even make the coffee machine work with it. And it can play music and you can ask things like what the weather will be. I wasn’t allowed to tell you, because Santa only- oops,“ she covered her mouth with her hand, looking a tad guilty in her mom‘s direction.

„It’s okay Franny, Quinn knows that it’s from us.“

„You have to try it, Quinn, please,“ Franny begs.

So he takes that thing and gets up, shuffling towards the door when Franny calls him back.

„Where you going? It’s here. Not downstairs. But here, and in the kitchen, and in mom’s room. And the bathroom. May I try it? Please.“

Lacking any words at all, Quinn just looks at Carrie, finding her eyes and seeing her shrugging her shoulders, the corners of her mouth curling upwards in a shy smile.

„We can get a second one for downstairs if you want that,“ Carrie starts, interrupted  
by Franny who enthusiastically tells _Alexa_ to play _Jingle Bells_ and to turn off the lights.

Which Alexa does. Long enough for squeezing Carrie‘s hand and pressing a kiss on her temple in the still dark and early morning before Franny gets Alexa to switch on the lights on the Christmas tree.

Quinn has a book for Franny. Irish fairy tales, beautifully illustrated with colorful drawings. It’s an antiquarian book, and Carrie wonders if she’ll ever learn about that part of his life, those years when he was listening to these stories. Quinn promises Franny to he will read her one story for bedtime.

It’s almost noon when Carrie and Franny go for a walk and buy the food. Quinn sits in the living room, relieved when they are gone, so he can stretch his aching limbs without earning himself a worried look from Carrie. He‘s not used to spending too many hours with company and an hour or two of silence are much needed now. 

Of course he enjoyed the morning. More than he ever thought he would. Waking up next to a smiling Carrie. Franny, being so excited. Breakfast together. Like - no, he won’t think that. Just relishing the moment, not starting to think and ponder. 

He reaches for the book, thinking about Franny‘s smile when she asked him to read one of the stories. His finger trails the delicate and labyrinthine lines of the felicitous paintings, taking him into another world. The stories are no stories for children, filled with larger-than-life hunters, warriors, kings, and fairies. But he remembers how he liked to listen to the rhythm of the voice reading them to him, even when he was too young to grasp the meaning of the stories. And he remembers his younger self losing himself in the world those illustrations offered him, dreaming of an enchanted world with heroes and knights, fairies and banshees.

The fifth story was the one he wanted to hear again and again.

_The tale about Oisin’s mother. Oisin‘s name literally means "young deer", and the story is told that his mother, Sadbh, was turned into a deer by a druid, Fear Doirche. When the fairy prince Fionn was hunting he caught her but did not kill her, and she returned to human form. Fionn gave up hunting and fighting to settle down with Sadbh, and she was soon pregnant, but Fear Doirche turned her back into a deer and she returned to the wild, never to be seen as human ever again._

———————

Quinn sits exactly where he sat when they left, and is asleep when they come back, his head resting against the back of the couch. The book lies next to him.

Franny climbs the couch and carefully takes the book, looking at the colorful pictures while Carrie starts the feat of preparing a Christmas lunch.

Which will take a while - despite being _pre-cooked_ the turkey needs another ninety minutes in the oven.

_At least Franny isn’t cranky and hungry yet._

Max arrives when Carrie is trying to find some space in the oven for the potatoes - and she is glad that the turkey delivers the impression she was expecting him. Because honestly she forgot she invited him.

But Max being Max doesn‘t feel her irritation - or is too polite to comment on it. He brings a DVD for Franny and Panettone cake for dessert, and just raised an eyebrow when he crosses the living room with a sleeping Quinn on the couch.

„You made sure he had his meds?“

„No. I‘m not his babysitter. I-, damn it, Max, don’t look at me like this.“

„He needs-,“ but seeing Carrie‘s eyebrows arching up Max stops.

„I _know_.“

_But we had a good moment this morning, actually a full good morning and I didn’t want to break that spell._

„Well, he can have them when he wakes up,“ Max sighs, giving in, as always.

He watches Carrie juggling with the different pots and bowls, wondering what this is about. When she asked him to come over, he expected a deli salad or maybe Thai takeout but there’s a turkey in the oven and she‘s trimming green beans, and several more sides are sitting on the counter, still neatly wrapped and labeled in Whole Foods containers.

„It’s what he and Franny wanted“, Carrie mutters, following Max eyes, „but I only placed the order late last night and I had no idea that _pre-cooked_ doesn‘t mean readymade.“

„How long?“

„Another seventy-two minutes.“

„So we can skip dinner“, Max quips, and Carrie notices how much his presence raises her mood.

——————-

Quinn registers the smell before he is awake. And the feeling of warmth seeping into his side. 

_Franny._

She is looking at the pictures in the book while leaning against him, and he just sits there for a moment longer, his eyes closed.

He hears voices from the kitchen, laughter then, Carrie‘s voice. And Max. Talking about the food he can smell. 

It’s a peaceful moment, those few seconds before the awkwardness creeps in. Knowing that he was asleep when they came back, Max crossing the room with him drooling on Carrie‘s couch.

For once, luck is on his side because Franny puts the book away and joins the others in the kitchen and so he can sneak downstairs unnoticed, feeling like the asshole he probably is.

He knows Carrie is preparing this meal for him. Remembers them talking about it, joking even, last night. But suddenly it feels too much a challenge to sit through the meal with her and Max and Franny, all in holiday cheer while he is - whatever he is.

The basement is cold, the heating is off as he hasn’t been here since yesterday morning. His pills are sitting on the counter, Carrie left them there when she collected his dose last night. He dry swallows a Primidone and some painkillers before he lies down on the bed, staring to the ceiling.

Images come and go. Changing fast. A revolving door. Last night. Carrie. This morning. A Christmas long ago, in the Hindukush. A little boy building a snowman. Many years earlier. And then one image stays. A winter in Iraq. A platoon sergeant getting shot through the helmet and knocked unconscious. Another guy shot in the femoral artery and his blood covering the tiled  
floor. And they can’t get out of the small shop in which they took cover. An ambush. Every exit dialed in with machine gun fire. Hears himself shouting. He‘s shouting so loud and for so long that he‘ll lose his voice for two days. And he knows this was long ago. But at the same time it’s _now_. Too many civilians. Sees a woman crossing the square, a baby in her arms. He knows the child is dead and she‘ll be dead within seconds and he keeps shouting as loud as he can. But it’s not loud enough. Her leg is gone, she is screaming and spilling her blood all over the ground. And he can’t get through to her, and she is bleeding out and dying in front of him. It’s like somebody is holding his head and forcing him to watch hell. When he finally gets out of the shop, three men providing cover, he‘s too late. She’s dead, bled out holding her dead child.

„Quinn. Quinn.“

_Carrie‘s voice. Her hand, touching his shoulder. Her face, coming into focus._

„Quinn. Damn.“

Every bone aches, he’s stiff like a steel cable, ready to run and yet unable to move.

He focuses on breathing, takes stock – it wasn’t one of those flashbacks which would turn him into a shaking, whimpering mess. He‘s still lying on his bed, his clothes are dry, and so are his cheeks when he rubs his face and mutters _Fuck_.

When he finally looks at her, he doesn’t know what to make of her expression. If she’s angry or tired or-

„Mom? Quinn?“ It’s Franny‘s voice from the stairs, looking for them.

„The food is ready. That’s why I came here. To tell you. But you don’t have to-,“ her voice trails off and she is about to get up. Quinn feels guilt stabbing through his guts.

„N-no. Two minutes. I- see you upstairs.“

Somehow he finds her hand and squeezes it, the hint of a small smile curling the corners of her mouth making him feel a little less misplaced.

„Good you have a watch to track the minutes.“

————————-

The potatoes are overcooked, the meat is dry and the beans are a little too salty. Max makes a good-natured joke about Carrie’s cooking skills –or the lack of them – and when she quips about having other qualities she darts a glance towards Quinn and they share a smile which makes her heart feel light and warm for a long moment.

They have hot chocolate for Franny and mulled wine for the adults with Max‘s cake. Carrie kisses him once when they are alone in the kitchen, he tastes the sweet wine on her lips and wraps his good arm around her waist to make her stay close a moment longer.

She leans in, her forehead resting against his shoulder, and if he had to choose on moment of this day to stay with him, it would be this.

„You‘ll stay? Tonight?“

„Yeah. Testing Alexa.“

That makes her chuckle, and earns him another quick peck and then she is gone, collecting the empty dishes from the table.

It’s a moment of levity, he thinks, and that they maybe need that sometimes.

—————————

It’s Quinn‘s turn to tuck Franny in tonight and to read the promised bedtime story, right after Max left. He tells her the story from his memory and they look at the pictures in the book. 

„So he‘s like me. I don’t know my father.“ Franny muses when he finishes talking. „Did you know him?“

Carrie is just about to come into the room when she hears her daughter‘s question and stops from entering the room.

„I- Yes. I did.“

„Mom said you knew me when I was a baby.“

„True.“

„Do you know your Dad?“

„No.“

„It’s not too bad, right?“

Quinn shakes his head, not trusting his ability to speak.

„I have Mom. And Aunt Maggie and Uncle Bill. And now I have you too.“

He nods and opens his arm, pleased when Franny takes it as the invitation it was meant to be and hugs him back.

„Good night Franny.“

„Good night Quinn.“

He sits with her a second longer, waiting for her to turn around and curl up under her blanket when he hears the doorbell ringing. Max probably, maybe he forgot something.

But a moment later he hears a male voice and it’s not Max‘s. And then Carrie‘s voice. The male voice again. Perfect English but a hint of an accent. German probably.

He doesn’t know why he doesn’t step out of the room like he usually would now but sinks on a stool next to the door. 

_Lingering in the shadow._

A sonor voice, educated. Carrie is laughing, just briefly, but definitely laughing. They pass by Franny‘s door and Quinn catches a glimpse for a second or two. A tall man in a dark coat, gift bags in his hand, his eyes on Carrie. Quinn can’t see Carrie, the man is filling his visual field completely.

„… would have come earlier, if I had known I was welcome…,“ is what he hears before they disappear into the living room.

He follows them, but doesn’t enter the room. He is certainly not needed for what is apparently a reunion. 

But Quinn pushes the door ajar, less than an inch, so he can hear them. Again he can’t see Carrie, the angle is not right.

She’s not talking much, most of the conversation is done by the man. Quinn never saw him before, and yet he seems to be close with Carrie.

He seems to be some years older than Carrie, early fifties, his whole demeanor exuding the self confidence nce of a man who knows about his power and is used to things going his way. 

His clothes seem expensive and well cut, made to measure probably. No ring as far as Quinn can see from his position behind the door.

They speak with low voices and it’s difficult to make what they say, but when the man takes wrapped parcels – quite a few of them – from  
one of the bags it’s obvious.

Quinn doesn’t need to see more, and thinking that he is spying out Carrie and her visitor in her own house makes him feel nauseated.

_It’s all not gonna work. Not now. Never._

He doesn’t know what to do or where to go – least how to face the conversation with Carrie.

He retreats to the basement, sits in the dark and loses himself in the thoughts he managed to keep at bay all day.

So he misses Otto Düring’s attempt to give Carrie some his family’s Christmas ornaments because she admired them the year before and he has no use for them. And he doesn’t witness Carrie not accepting the light turquoise box holding a beautiful pair of diamond earrings.

He doesn’t hear her explaining to Otto that she wishes him not to visit her without at least a phone call before. Or that she explains to him that she is sorry but that she only sees him as friend and business partner. 

And he misses Carrie asking Düring not to give Franny the Lego Robotics set.

——————

Carrie feels tired after Otto finally left. She had neither expected his visit nor had she known he was in New York.

They hadn’t seen each other for almost three months, and none of what she told him today was new – they had almost the same conversation, minus the Christmas presents, when she left Germany and then again a few weeks later, here in New York again.

She wonders if Quinn fell asleep in Franny’s room, he didn’t look well when she found him downstairs in his bed earlier this afternoon.

Thinking about the brief moment they shared in the kitchen, his promise to be upstairs tonight and spend the night with her, makes her smile about herself and the flutter she feels in her chest.

An unusual date – but when was anything about Quinn ever _usual_?

He’s not in Franny’s room. And not in her own room. Which she knows before she checks because he wouldn’t go there for the night without her, she’s sure about that.

_So downstairs again._

Carrie finds him sitting in the dark. For a moment she wishes she could just vanish, fall asleep and only wake up again when this endless dance of not knowing in which mood she’ll find him, of progress, setback, hope and despair is over.

“So what?”

He sighs and looks at her, trying to figure out the way this will go now.

She’s standing in the dim pool of light of the kitchen hood, he forgot to switch it off, and he can’t see her eyes but the expression on her face.

“Quinn,” she’s exasperated, “what is it _now_?”

“It’s f-fine Carrie.”

“No. It’s not. You just vanished.”

“You were b-busy.”

“An unexpected visitor. Otto. He left.”

“D-doesn’t matter.”

Carrie steps closer, her arms folded over her chest now, and he knows he has it coming.

“It fucking does matter. To me, it does. What the fuck is wrong with you, Quinn? I just- I thought-,” but she doesn’t finish the sentence, suddenly feeling like she might cry.

“Carrie,” he sighs, “it’s- this is not what you w-want. Not what you d-deserve. I- it’s okay, you-.”

“So this is your fucking excuse this time?”

Her voice isn’t getting louder, but he knows she is getting angry, she looks at him, her eyes forcing him to look at her and to hold her gaze.

 

“So what do you want to hear then? Cause I think Düring-“

“Don’t you dare that.”

“No, Carrie, I d-do dare. Cause he seemed to know what he w-wants. And I w-won’t, I can’t, I- fuck.”

He looks away, pursing his lips, frustrated beyond words that he can’t get the fucking words out.

_And here we go again._

“You know what Quinn?,” suddenly her tone is sharp as she is stepping closer. He gets up and retreats to the kitchen counter before she can reach for him.

So she follows him, two effortless strides for her, four painful steps for him.

“You know what?,” she repeats. “I don’t need much. But I do need one thing. Just one fucking thing. No, actually two. Want to know what they are? I need to be able to trust you. And to rely on you. Because this is what I try to be for you. Every single fucking day ever since that day in May. I swore to myself, to God, to you when you were still in coma, to Astrid, even to Dar Adal, that I’d never let you down ever again. That I’d be there, no matter what. As your friend. That I wouldn’t ask for anything. Because I owed you. And you never asked for anything. That I wouldn’t confront you with my emotions. That I wouldn’t push you to talk. That I’d love you, not asking for you to love me back. Not until you wanted that for yourself. And I _was_ there. Every single fucking day. You hit me, you threw food at me,” Quinn listens with horror, unable to interrupt her storm of words, watching her staring at him with her eyes wide open, tears welling up in them, “you denied me access to your room, and I came back every day. I suffered through your silence, even when you were able to speak again, but chose not to speak to me. I held your hand when you had a flashback so horrible you locked yourself in the bathroom and hospital security broke through the door and found you on the floor of the shower, shaking and vomiting. I sent them all away and sat with you for hours. I brought you stateside when you asked me to. I didn’t go behind your back to get you better care. I took you here when the hospital was unbearable for you. I tried everything I could. It maybe wasn’t enough. But it was all _I_ could do. And I will keep doing that. As your friend. But if you really want us to be _more_ I need just one thing. I need your trust. Because to think that I’d  
waver just because I get a visitor – Otto – _once_... to think that I’d betray what we… to be ready to lock me back out… to doubt my reliability just because you overhear a conversation and jump to conclusions…one moment we have a good thing going and then the next… that is just… fuck, Quinn, just fuck you.”

She looks at him a second longer, his eyes dark and his face motionless, and then she turns and retreats towards the stairs.

_And this is it._

It’s all he can think. He’s behind her before he realizes he made the decision to get up, grabs her wrist and jerks her back from the stairs, too forceful. She stumbles against him and gasps but he has her.

It’s his left arm and it hurts like hell, his right hand is still around her wrist, the left arm around her waist, preventing her from losing her balance.

He feels her freezing in his arm and knows he can’t have that conversation now.

She’s close, so close, and when she raises her chin all he needs to do is to bend his head slightly.

“Carrie,” and it’s just a strained whisper,  
“please.”

He never begged. Never asked for anything. The light pressure of his left arm around her waist makes her close the last inch between them, and then he kisses her. It’s not gentle and not tentative, it’s rough and passionate, urgent and demanding.

She responds with abandon, needing him now, needing him to promise her with his whole body that they’ll find a way, pushes her tongue into his mouth, moaning when he lifts her up and kisses her back.

Her hands tugs at his shirt as he sways, struggling to keep his balance, but so desperately trying to - and succeeding.

Not interrupting the kiss he manages to get her to the bed and to turn themselves when they fall, shielding her with his good arm from getting hurt. 

“How c-can you w-want this?,” he utters when he finally breaks the kiss, his lips just millimeters away from hers, his body on top of hers, pressing her into the mattress. “I c-can’t even-“

“Because I want _you_ ,” she whispers, her voice shaking, “can’t that be enough of a reason?”

He turns and pulls her with him, she’s on top now, leaning in and kissing him deep, sucking his tongue and grinding her hips against him, feeling him hard through her pants.

His hand comes around and presses her ass down, he starts kneading it, feeling so much desire for her that it almost scares him.

Carrie bites his lower lip, sending a jolt of violent arousal down his spine, and then she rises on her knees and yanks his pants down, her hand closing around him when they’re down to his knees.

He bites his lip and fights the urge to grab her and fuck her right away, each movement of her fingers around him making him groan.

“You know what I’ll do later tonight?”, Carrie whispers close to his ear, crouching down next to him now, “I'll go down on you, take you in my mouth, make you come, and have you surrender to me. You’d like that?”

“Fuck Carrie”, is all he has to offer, his brain being in state of profound and primal yearning, her hand working him _just_ not enough.

“But first I want you to fuck me”, she whispers, “and I think you’d like that too.”

Carrie lets go when she sits up and smiles down on him, raises her arms and pulls her shirt over head.

“You want to watch?”

And with that, she gets up and undresses completely, revealing milky skin in the dimness of the basement, enjoying his eyes following every movement.

With a flash of a smile she pulls his pants and socks away and climbs into the bed again, straddling him now. He’s fighting with his shirt sleeve but she peels it off his left arm and tosses it in the general direction of her clothes. 

His mouth finds hers as she pushes him to lie back, she sinks down with him, pleasurable friction, she moans into his mouth while playfully canting her hips against him.

Carrie comes up on her knees for a brief moment, giving him time to line himself up against her entrance before she sinks down on him again, reveling in the feeling of him pushing inside her and filling her.

She gasps his name as she starts rocking her hips, slowly first, and then – when his hands come up to frame her hips – faster.

It takes bending his good leg, bracing his foot against the mattress, to support himself enough to thrust into her, but once he manages it allows him to fuck her harder, his hands securing her hips, his movements in countermotion to hers.

“Oh God, Quinn,” she cries out as he does it again, and he knows they’ll both be there in no time.

It’s an incredible visual, Carrie above him, her slender body pushing up and down, her breasts bouncing, her head bent back, her moans driving him there faster and faster.

“Don’t stop, please, Quinn,” she gasps, working him with her muscles, twisting her hips, a faint sheen of sweat covering her skin.

Hearing his moans makes her ache to see and feel him unravelling, she wants him so desperately to make her come, and even more she wants to see his eyes when he’s there.

She looks down at him and that is all she needs. His intense blue gaze searing right through her, body and soul. She falls off the peak of her climax and feels a flash of white heat within. A moment later he is coming inside her, his hips surging upwards, grinding against her, bucking violently. He keeps the left hand on her hip but with the other he reaches up and presses right in the middle of her chest. When he descends, his hips still and his body melts beneath her. She collapses on his chest, still feeling him twitching inside her, enjoying every single second.

She lies there, completely still, he feels her breath slowly evening out, her skin damp under his palm.

Her lips are pressed against the hollow between his neck and shoulder and he slowly caresses her back, trailing his hand along the curve of her spine.

They don’t speak for a long time. Not until Carrie slips next to him and sits up, taking his left hand and placing it in her lap.

He wants to pull it away. But her hand closes around his fingers, her eyes search his, and after a long moment she feels him relaxing again.

“Does it always hurt?”, she asks, her voice soft.

They never spoke about it. He always refused to have that conversation with her, and after a while she stopped asking.

She presses her thumb against his palm and slowly starts making circles while gently increasing the pressure.

“More or less. Some days more than others. Being tired makes it worse.”

She slowly massages his hand, and he can tell she’s not doing this for the first time. He doesn’t know how he feels about it but he’s grateful she is not pursuing the topic further.

She takes her time, massages the weak hand thoroughly and ignores his hesitation to look at her. She extends her ministrations to his arm, and then his other arm, carefully opening the clasp of the watch he is still wearing when she reaches his wrist. After placing it on the nightstand, she closes her hand around his wrist again and breathes a kiss on his palm before she starts massaging that hand with her thumb.

He’s looking at her now, his eyes are resting on her face and hold her gaze, seeing a beautiful smile curling at the corners of her mouth.

She lets go of his hand and places hers on his abdomen and chest and starts to caress him, her lower hand gliding from his navel further south with each stroke.

Her movements are slow, she keeps a dreamy pace, giving them all the time in the world. Her touch is much softer now, almost feathery, long and regular strokes like waves, one hand gliding upwards to his chest and shoulders, one gliding down to abdomen and thighs, the tips of her fingers coming tantalizing close.

Quinn wants to reach out and touch her, wants to put his hand on the small of her back but Carrie shakes her head and smiles.

“No,” she whispers, “this is just for you. This is how I want you. Just enjoy this.”

It’s a Carrie he didn’t know yet. Or maybe he did and just doesn’t remember. There’s so much still locked away. But for once, it doesn’t matter. 

He feels her hands on his body, it feels different on the right half, but he does _feel_ her on his left half. And after a while the two sensations flow into one, time draws out, and he can’t tell if it’s minutes or hours, just that it’s so fucking good to _be_ with her.

He’s drinking her in, mesmerized by watching her face, the curve of her breast when she opens her arms and closes them again, the soft line of her mouth when she smiles, thinking that she enjoys this as much as he does, and that again she found a way to push through to him, stubborn and determined as she is.

“What do you want me to do?,” she whispers and leans down to him, slipping on of her legs over him in one smooth movement so she is straddling him, her mouth less than an inch from his, “I want you to say it.”

He feels her breath on his lips and receives her kiss before he can answer, parts his lips for her and feels her body melting into his.

“Don’t touch me,” she whispers before she kisses him once more, deeper this time, “just tell me what you want.”

“Your mouth,” he whispers.

She kisses him again, a sweet and almost chaste kiss, and slides between his legs with one lithe motion, she’s on her knees now, her hands on his hips.

Her eyes twinkle, a smile flashes across her face and then she bends down and places her lips around the tip of his cock, opens them a little further and slowly takes him in.

It feels incredible. Wet, warm, one of her hand slips between his legs and gently cups his balls, she swirls her tongue around him, finds that sweet spot and runs over it again and _again_ , slides down, deeper, and then up. He watches her until he is unable to keep his eyes open and his head falls back onto the pillow, his hips surging, joining her cadence, feeling he’s getting closer and closer, Carrie’s mouth around him, sucking, licking, teasing and then _finally_ giving the rhythm he’s longing for, her tongue swirling around him each time just before she goes down again.

His hand comes up to cup her cheek for a second and then his fingers weave through her hair, a gentle pressure for the last fleeting moments, she enjoys hearing and feeling his low moans, feels him pushing into her and then he’s there, his fingers clamping at the back of her head and pushing her down once more.

It jolts through his core, this is Carrie giving herself to him, and it washes him away, takes his mind, body and soul, makes him gasp her name when he feels himself shooting into her, Carrie guiding him through all of it – more and then more.

When she leaves him and crawls upwards he cradles her, her _Just hold me_ not necessary, he’d do it anyway as he needs this now as much as she does.

Bringing the left arm up to drop it on her waist is less painful than he expected it to be and once it’s there he just needs to wait for the cramps to ease up and eventually pass, feeling her body molding to his.

 

He makes her come again before they shower, whispering against her ear that he owes her, hearing the smile in his voice. He turns her on her back, positions himself so he can use his right hand and eases a finger into her, and then a second, gentle movements, slowly rocking back and forth, and it doesn’t take long to bring her there, her hand clenched around his wrist, his mouth placing a kiss on her temple.

It’s almost dawn when they go back upstairs and slip under the covers, knowing they probably won’t get much sleep before Franny will wake up.

“Can Alexa s-switch on a DVD?”

“Actually, she can do that.”

“S-smart move, Mathison.”

But she’s already curled into his side and doesn’t answer anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Sydney and Upon the Wire - fic writing is so much more fun when having friends around to discuss the work in progress.


End file.
